One For The Money
by Art Is Dead
Summary: She is ruthless. He is useless. Rated M for possible future smut, abuse and language. This shall be ONCEST, just be patient.
1. Chapter 1

/-/ This idea has been floating around in my head, and I decided to turn it in to something. I'm unsure if I'll continue it, but I do hope that I can. Updates will be irregular if I do decide to. \-\

She was ruthless. She always had been, it was in her nature. He had grown accustomed to this fact, and that hurt him more than the cuts, bruises and gashes ever could. He had grown weak because of her. He would never stop blaming himself; it was his fault and it always would be. Though he may not have been entirely sure of what his fault was, it was still _his fault. _

He would never tell anyone. If he did she would kill him. Though he may have been a worthless fuck-up, he did not want to die. He always believed he was to be a part of something greater, though it was a stretch. It would probably never come true, but he could dream.

She hated dreamers. Dreamers meant entrepreneurs, and entrepreneurs could fail. Maybe that was why she had loved his brothers so much - they were mindless, and would do whatever they were told. Imagination could not, _would not _exist in her household. His father had an imagination once as well. She quickly changed that. Now he was practically a mute - or at least by choice. He was afraid, and everyone could tell. She had loathed those with imagination because they were higher than she was. She needed to be the highest.

They had stopped going out. Their car was left to rust in the yard, and the only other form of transportation was their trailer. She would not let anyone else drive it but herself. Not that she was afraid of damage - her driving was not exactly expert - but that she did not want anyone to _get away. _Ever.

She did not know about his wagon. He had built it himself.

The room was dark. It always had been dark, and he knew this possibly better than he had known himself. Perhaps the room was all he had known. He had stopped fighting an hour ago. His vision was far too blurred and his body just ached too much for him to continue the struggle. He could vaguely taste iron, but his body was too numb for him to care. She had found them; the cuts, that is. He was unsure of why he put them there in the first place. Perhaps he was beginning to enjoy hurt. The thought made him wince. It was only a matter of time before she had. He just was not expecting such a brutal reaction.

"Oncie deary," she had crooned. Her voice was like silk. She tried so hard to be beautiful, but he knew what lay beneath that make-up and smile. "What are these?" she asked, as if she had not known. He desperately tried to explain; perhaps she would appreciate the idea. She was always complaining about how much work it was to beat him, maybe if he had tried to make it easier on her she would thank him. Her nose crinkled as he blabbered. The tears had come too early. She dug her finger in to the deepest slash on his wrist and grinned as he cried out. Crimson flowed over her palm, but she was not yet satisfied. Her bloodstained hand came hard across his cheek. She knew just where to strike him so that it would not show the next day. "You know I don't like it if I'm not the one providing them," her velvet lips hissed in his ear.

Something glinted in the corner. It was familiar, but he tried to refuse the idea that it had been there. She approached it. It took some strength but she had managed to tear off one of the strings to his beloved guitar - another item which she hated. He gasped as an incongruous noise split the air. Her heels clicked as she found him again in the dark. "I've heard these can be quite painful," she explained as she wrapped one end carefully around her wrist. By then she had found his back - it was bare, as was custom during these times - and was sizing it up with her large eyes. She was the predator, and he was the prey. A crack resounded off the bare walls as she brought the item down upon his pale skin, which split and bled on contact. He yelped, contorting in a way to try and escape the burning sensation. It was useless to try and escape; his arms were held up by chains which hung from the ceiling.

"Mom," he had murmured. All he could see was red. She despised when he had spoke to her at these times, and so her powerful fist had come down on to his nose. The cartiledge shattered, and blood dripped down on to his lips. He would have to make up an excuse later - "I fell" or "I ran in to something". It was believable, he had been a clumsy individual.

"What is it, my darling son?"

"I thought...you would like it. I thought that maybe you would thank me. You're always saying how tiring this is..."

"You thought wrong," she had growled, and brought the makeshift whip back down on to his pale skin. Her sadism was apathetic. She did not care if he hurt, or if he cried. She only cared that his blood would run. That he would feel awful about himself, just like he deserved. It disgusted her to know that he was of her blood. How could someone - something - be such a failure, and be in her family? Not to mention her own child? The idea made her sick. She almost vomited. It would have been fantastic to watch him shudder and wince as her stomach acid soaked in to his wounds, but she was tired and she did not want to clean that up later. The blood could remain, but bile would end up reeking.

This was an hour ago. Now she had left him, broken and bleeding, to think about what he had done. What she did not know is that he could hardly think at all. Blood and snot came from his nose. He was unsure if he had been crying clear or crimson, but he did know that there was a wet heat in his eyes. He would not try and break away. She would come back later and retrieve him, but for now he was just cold. He shivered. It was hard to breathe.

All he wanted was to escape. Not necessarily his home, or that dark room which was all he had known, but to escape to a beautiful world. A world that was not barren fields. A world where he was #1. Where he was not useless. Where - bless his imagination - perhaps she worked under him. A world in his head.

_His fault would not get away. _


	2. Chapter 2

/-/ Wow okay. So I went to a concert, came home and went to bed, but then I woke up at like 2:00 am and couldn't fall back asleep and then this happened. Wooo \-\

He was useless. He had never believed otherwise and furthermore had never had a reason to anyways. There had not once been a thing he had gone through with doing. As a child he would sit out from the rest of his classmates, too shy to speak or too forgetful to do his homework. It was not that he had been a _stupid _kid, just that he was unusual.

She did not appreciate unusual. Instead of embracing her sons uncanny nature, she resented him for being an _outcast_.

He had been locked in the dark room which was all he had known for longer than usual. His arms had gone numb, especially at the shoulders. Rivers of thick crimson had trickled down his back where she had lashed him and stained his pants. He had not minded, it would not have been the first pair. He just wanted to sleep, but the ringing in his ears prevented him from doing so. Not to mention that when she returned she would have gotten quite angry, and perhaps leave him there for longer or beat him further.

It may have been hours later until he heard keys rustling, and finally a bright light cast across the walls as her silhouette overtook the doorway. Hanging from nails which had been messily hammered in to the plaster was a variety of torture equipment. It was not always that she would use these tools of destruction, only when she had gone through an awful day or was more disappointed in him than usual. When it was not a day such as that, she would rely solely on the brute force of her own hands. Perhaps, he reasoned, that was more awful than the other things.

"Hello again Oncie," she called to him just as she always would. He lifted his head, and his bright blue eyes which had been lidded partially from exhaustion acknowledged her from _respect_. "Did you miss me?"

He did not, of course. But she did not need to hear that to know the truth. Regardless, he had shook his head yes anyways. He could hazily recall her smiling, but he had been too tired to realize it.

"Of course you missed me, I'm _your mama." _

She thankfully had decided that enough was enough and she would take him down. His arms felt like wet noodles, and he had only roughly been aware of their actual existence. The chains had clicked and clacked against each other until finally settling down, and the pair of them exited the room and entered the light.

He of course headed straight to the bathroom to clean himself up. His mother would not be happy if he showed his bloody, bruised face to the rest of the family. They would become suspicious. Not that they would care much, in fact they might even insist on joining her the next time. She did not want that. It was her job to teach him that he was nothing more than waste, nobody else's.

After years of going through such brutal moments, he had become quite savvy in the expertise of first-aid. He had also been quite renowned for the use of make-up, of course only to cover the bruises and black eyes. The first thing to address this time was his broken nose. A bloodstained, pitiful looking individual stared back at him from the mirror. He loathed his reflection. He was ugly; a disgrace. Those rosy freckled cheeks had not been charming at all, and his round blue eyes saw nothing but hate and bred only such a thing as well. His black, side-swept hair was feathery and unkempt. His nose was bent awkwardly to the side. Gripping at the tender flesh with his fingers, he yanked it back in to place. For a moment all he could see was red. It vaguely reminded him of not so long ago, except this was a much more comfortable pain. It was a pain he was providing. It was not a pain that made him question if his mother had ever loved him at all. He wiggled the bruised muscle around the injury and winced at the sting.

For the next few minutes he had washed his face of the dried blood which was caked on to his skin. There was not much he could do about his back without taking a shower, and so he decided to do so. His joints ached but the steamy water helped relax the muscles in his lanky arms. The hot liquid stung the gashes along his back but the burn had not been so bad; it was better than receiving the bloody tears in his skin, that was for sure.

Currently he was in his room, dressing himself in pajamas and preparing for a long nights sleep. His favorite set was a baby blue night shirt and matching pants decorated with small yellow rabbits. It was comfortable, warm and had always smelled pleasant no matter how much he wore them - even as he grew too tall for his bed and his sheets got worn out.

He could not lay on his back like he normally did when sleeping. It hurt far too much, and so he curled up on his side and settled into his pillow.

Minutes later, still wide awake and the pain becoming increasingly unbearable, the tears had begun to streak down his cheeks. He felt pitiful for letting himself come to such a state, but that had not stopped the warm flow of clear saltwater. More than ever he had a desire to escape to a world aside from this one, even if it only had existed in the confines of his head. It used to be easy for him. As time went on, she beat his imagination out of him. As he would bleed it would pour out of his body as the color of crimson and on to the floor. He hardly had an imagination left. She had defeated him, and he had allowed her to. The thought made him absolutely sick. As if to pour salt on the wound, his stomach growled. He had not yet eaten that day, and he would not either. This had been going on for weeks. He was losing weight fast. His already lanky physique was becoming lankier; his long legs and arms were barely finger-span around, or at least in most places.

In times like these he would usually practice his guitar, which he admittedly was not that great at playing, but she had kept it in that dark room. Only she had the keys, and he was not yet ready mentally to approach her on the subject. So for the mean time, all he could do was silently suffer and hope that no one intruded on him and saw how much of a disgrace he really was.

It was going to be a long night.

_Stupid outcast, respect your mama. _


	3. Chapter 3

/-/ This one's kind of short. I may/will probably add more later, so make sure to keep checking it. \-\

He was growing. Where most boys his age had stopped their growth spurts, he was being stretched by the limbs far too fast for him to keep up with. Before he knew it his legs had been twice their usual size and his arms were not far behind. As a result he had been quite an uncoordinated fellow; it was hard to grow accustomed to his rapid expansion physically, and sometimes it felt like he was learning to walk all over again.

She did not like this at all. His legs were far longer than hers, making it easy for him to escape her grasp if he so chose. So, she decided to do something about it.

"Oncie," her susurrous voice had interrupted his slumber in an incongruous sort of way. He groaned, not wanting to wake up yet. The sting in his back was overwhelming, not that she cared much. "It's time for you to wake up. No need to sleep all day and make yourself even more useless. I've got something to show you."

His big blue eyes peeled themselves open at a snails pace. The light of the room invaded his corneas and temporarily disoriented him. She was standing over his too-small bed, a sinister look on her face. She always had a sinister looked on her face. He wished to hide under the covers and with enough chanting, convince her that monsters were not real and then she would go away. But he was not a child anymore, and that had stopped working for the nefarious shadows in his room years ago.

"Alright, I'm up I'm up," he mumbled half-incoherently in to the peak of a yawn. He had always believed that sleep was a sacred thing and should not be so easily interrupted, but his mother was a special case. He winced at the memory of denying her any sort of acknowledgement whilst trying to snooze; it was not something he wished to face again.

"Good," her menacing voice had purred. She had something planned, something twisted and reckless. He could hear it in her throat and listened as it boiled inside of her body. Regardless he got up anyways. His limbs felt tired, especially that of his arms. It felt as though some large beast was tugging on them for the course of hours.

His room was quaint. It may not have been as regal as the other bedrooms, but it was a place in which he could escape to; where he could be alone with his thoughts; where nothing hurt him except his own gruesome imagination, and even that was quickly going. His comforter was a dull maroon and had been patched up in places by other forms of fabric, making it appear old and worn. That was exactly as it was however; old and worn. The metal headboard was rusting, destined to fall apart.

She had receded to the doorway, indicating that he follow. And so he did, needing to duck his head a little as he stepped in to the hallway. "So what was it that you wanted to show me?" his chapped lips felt rough against one another as he spoke. He was thirsty, but she did not have to know that.

"It's right here," she explained as she opened the door leading down the steps to their cellar. For a moment, as he stared down in to the darkness, he was puzzled. There had been nothing there except an image he had seen many times over; cobwebs littering the walls and ceiling, a faint dust in the air which caught the light in given places. But then he felt a hand upon his back which startled him, and a voice against his ear which whispered, "_Stop fucking growing_."

He was falling, tumbling. At one point he had hit his head against something; perhaps a step, or maybe the wall, but it numbed his sense for what was to come. By the time he had hit the bottom, his leg had been crushed. He realized her intentions - prevent him from running away, even if only temporarily - and accepted his defeat. But that did not stop the pain.

"You _freak_!" she called down the steps as he whined, bawling incoherently. He had never had a broken bone before and now he realized how lucky he was. It was painful, enough to make him pass out. In fact, he kind of wished that he would pass out, but of course he was not that fortunate.

"Shit," he whimpered in to the back of his palm as he bit the flesh to keep from screaming, "it hurts..." his voice mewled.

"Get up," she commanded. His heart stopped in that moment. Had she really expected him to climb up the stairs on his own? The devious look on her face said yes. She wished for him to suffer, and suffer he shall.

It was excruciating just trying to stand. He had to use the walls for support, and they had been cold and slippery. His leg hurt - more than any pain he had ever experienced in his life. The first few attempts to stand were futile; he would fall and bruise himself in other areas, until finally his wobbly feet held him up. That was not even the worst part. Hobbling up the stairs was a nightmare, and she watched with amusement the entire time. It pleased her to see him going through hell. He shook and sobbed and tried to crawl, but she would only command once again, "Get up," and he would have to stand and make the journey on his feet.

Those stairs had never seemed so endless in his life.

_Stop fucking growing, freak. _


	4. Chapter 4

It was genius. A device not only economically smart, but an invention which could do the job of over a thousand usual household items; maybe even more. He had thought of it on a whim, and perhaps deep down believed that it was absolutely silly. It seemed absolutely silly when explained, at least. How much could one trust in an item called a "Thneed"? It was catchy indeed with a jingle tied to it, but other than that it was completely inane.

Inane, and he had not been more confident in his thoughts ever before.

Finally - for once - things were looking up in his world. He spent hours constructing a general design of the object; sketching, erasing, sketching, erasing, pondering, sketching all over again. It had to be perfect. He needed to know this thing from the inside out, that was for sure. It was not like he could have been doing much else; being condemned to a pair of crutches and a cast had not really enabled much more than sitting around for him. He ate less and less, worked more and more. The only time he would discontinue his excessive planning was when _she _was ready to teach him his daily lesson. For the first time he had started to feel apathetic towards these brutal beatings. She would do her thing and he would absently daydream of his big plans for the future. She would notice his aloof mindset, pull him in to reality by force, and become frustrated when it only lasted a matter of minutes.

These days it was becoming a routine - more so than it had been one before. The only changing aspect was that she was growing far more tired, not just physically but mentally as well. She was beginning to let his bruises fade. What was more is that some days she would just let him hang there and refuse to touch him, or speak to him at all.

Her pleasure in his pain was diminishing drastically, and the light in his eyes had never been brighter.

His biggest issue for the first time in his life was not learning to cope with the pain for another day, but instead became finding just the right material for this wondrous idea. He had created a few prototypes unsuccessfully; it would not fold the right way, was not soft enough, was too soft. There had to be something out there which would do the job and do it right.

It was not that he _hates _himself, at least not generally anymore. His reflection had still been repulsive. An image of self-pity and failure. But - he reasoned - maybe he could do something about being a failure. Maybe he was doing something about being a failure.

"Well, Once-ler," he would say to himself each night as his leg healed and his mind swam with fantastic images of success and wealth, fame and fortune. He may have accused himself of being greedy for desiring these things, but he was by fact not as awful as his mother. She lived for the possession of the dollar, and for popularity. Unfortunately she had normally gotten what she wanted. "_You _are going to be someone one day. You're going to get out of here, and you're going to show the world how amazing your Thneed is; no exceptions!"

Melvin was fantastic. He may have only been a mule, but he was Once-ler's mule and he loved owning something just to himself for once. He almost felt bad when he claimed the creature as his own, but it did not appear to belong to anyone and had just been wandering aimlessly in his vast backyard. Once-ler had always wished for a pet, and although Melvin was unusual to call a domestic animal he had still been charming, and seemed well-trained. They became friends - as owner and animal could - almost instantly.

Moreover, with a strong and well-trained mule, he could easily make a run for it.

Over the course of three nights he would sneak out to the clearing in the woods where he built his wagon and pack it full of necessities. He would have to make the perilous journey as everyone slumbered and had nearly gotten himself discovered on many occasions. With his sprain still sore it had been difficult to maneuver at times and therefore he would be a bit more clumsy than usual. However luck had been on his side, and he would come back each night more accomplished than the one before.

It was the fourth night that he was discovered.

"Hey there brother," Bret called from the back porch. The night was dark and ominous and it was hard for the young Once-ler to distinguish shadows from objects, so he was a bit startled when he heard that familiar voice. Even more so when he realized that the twin was alone; normally him and Chet were inseparable. "Whadda ya doin' so late at night?"

Once-ler immediately grew defensive and frantic, "I could ask the same as you! Shouldn't you be, you know, sleeping? Like everyone else normal?"

"Well if I should be sleepin' then why aren't you?"

"...Alright," he pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled, "I've been working on...something. I won't be here for much longer okay?"

"What is it? Some sorta vehicle?" the duller of the two asked in his unique drawl.

"That...and more. But that's not important, okay?" Once-ler sighed. He had a feeling that he was getting too comfortable with his routine; something was bound to go wrong sooner or later.

"Iight, sounds good tah me!"

With not another word he had turned around and moved to open the door.

"Hey, aren't yah gonna go work on yer doohickey?"

"Too tired," he admitted. Melvin would have to wait until morning for a formal meal. Until then, there was at least grass in the area he could graze on. "I'm going to get some shut-eye. You should too."

The youthful, newly optimistic Once-ler had never thought his bed would feel so comfortable in his whole life. He could not recall the last time he was able to rest without pain in given places, or at least pain delivered by another. His shoulders and forearms were sore from being held aloft for long periods of time, not to mention working avidly for at least a week now. Had it really only been such short of a time? It amazed him just to know that he could concoct something to genius in such a short period of time and already have a plan to put his ideas to use. Perhaps this was the easy part; he needed to find better suited material after all, and that could take a lifetime.

But at least he was making progress.

Nevertheless, his lids had shut tight sooner than he had ever expected. He dreamed that night for perchance the first time in a decade; he could not remember and cared even less. A fantastic, magical valley of various colored trees which lacked leaves but had an abundance of a substance which was softer, more delicate and even more beautiful than he had ever imagined anything being since he was a small child. The fish sang, the birds were gorgeous and there was a herd of small bear-like creatures which were friendly beyond measure.

All in all, this dream world was perfect.

_She hates you._


	5. Chapter 5

It was time. The Once-ler was completely and in all aspects unsure of why he had even began to trust his dim-witted brother with such a hefty secret, but at the same time the outcome had not been so bad.

His _mother_, surprisingly, was letting him go.

The sun was shining; it was warm, pleasant. The grass swayed delicately with only small whispers of wind. Not a cloud was in the sky - not a single fluffy puff. For the first time the air had tasted flavorful instead of vapid and negative.

The path was a lot different than he remembered. After his family saw him off he had started down the road which he used to travel frequently upon - now it was much more lush with plant and wildlife. This seemed to add to his uncanny optimism. In fact, it brought that positive attitude to levels he would beforehand have deemed impossible. It was just him and Melvin, a pair unwilling to give up hopes and dreams so easily, travelling for what seemed like forever. The would oftentimes have to make stops in the towns they passed through for supplies or shelter, but Once-ler did not mind. Every night as he rested his head he felt accomplished of something new - be it distance or whatever else. Progress, though it was slow, was being made nonetheless and that was something he appreciated more than anything.

Weeks had passed before he found it. This place was beautiful. Everything about it had been breathtaking. He recognized it, in a way. It was a landscape he had once seen in a dream, or perhaps multiple times. The way the sun _hit_ the valley nearly made his heart stop. The grass was plush beneath his feet; the air was pleasant smelling; the sky was bluer than he had ever witnessed, or perhaps than he had ever allowed himself to witness. The creatures were even more fascinating than the land. They sang - or at least the fish did. The birds were elegant. Small bear-like creatures huddled around his feet and smiled at him with their lips and eyes. He had to smile back, it was not something he could resist at all.

All things seemed to be spiraling out of control sooner than he had expected. All he did was unpack his things, and the creatures seemed to be livid with _him_. One minute they were singing with him and the next he was being prowled by each species. He was puzzled more than scared, or at least until one of the small brown creatures made a move to attack him. He held up a couple of jumbo bags of marshmallows to try and shield himself, only noticing a moment after how ridiculous it seemed. A scream of his ripped through the air and he prepared for an attack, but it had not happened. By a quick glance he realized that the woodland animals were snacking on the fluffy white delicacies which had spilled from a tear in the bag. He admired the magical scene with his hands on his hips and a smile.

This scene only lasted a short while. He had work to do. With his hand on his axe, he strolled up to a bubblegum pink hued tree and sized up his swing. It only took a few strikes for the thin trunk to give in, and it fell to the ground. Ignoring the fact that the animals had scampered and scattered away from him, he dragged the fallen tree to a small pop-up home he had constructed and began to pull the tufts out and dispatch them in to a burlap sack.

That was when the Lorax appeared. He was a small creature, just a little higher than the bear-like animals, and was of a vibrant orange shade minus his yellow brows and mustache. At first the Once-ler had been confused of the fluent guardian's intentions, or at least questioned his sanity a bit, but when the scampering animal attempted to tear down his temporary home he automatically grew a sort of resentment for the thing.

The Lorax's threats were short-lived, or at least the Once-ler assumed. He saw the creature off after some tangent about nature's influence and how his words were a strict warning and then kept to himself for the rest of the night. It was his opportunity to make his first fully-functional Thneed; the tufts from the trees were exactly the material he had been looking for. Each piece was softer than that of silk, and smelled pleasantly floral. He knitted up his prototype with ease; each delicate tuft morphed in to its adjacent as naturally as droplets of water. This thing was perfect in all ways, there was no denying it. He had found the material of all materials.

He, the Once-ler, was an official businessman. He could not contain his grin at all, even as he lay down with his usual quilt on yet another too-small bed and wound down for the night in his favorite pajamas.

Tomorrow, he would sell his Thneed. He was confident in this, and there was no taking that away.

_Mother hit him._


	6. Chapter 6

It was cold. Not to mention that he was soaked to the very core, and unsurprisingly angry. How or why exactly he was nearly killed - in fact, _he_ had just scraped death - by a waterfall was entirely beyond him. Aside from the fact that a quite pesky Lorax admitted to putting him in the river, the Once-ler was happy he had survived. It took a great amount of work to retrieve his bed and get it back in to his home, but by the time it was all over he was more ready than ever to sleep. And sleep he had as well. Exhaustion took him over quickly and lasted throughout the night. He had even failed to noticed a plethora of forest animals taking residence in and on his bed, along with various other places around his small pop-up cottage.

He had, however, noticed in the morning. With narrow, frustrated blue eyes he scanned each surface of the room. There was not a single inch that had not been touched by some furry, feathery or scaly beast.

"-are they doing here?!" the Once-ler incongruously growled questions at the small, furry orange guardian which had decided it was best to sleep directly next to him in his already too-small bed. The tall, lanky entrepreneur was already concocting a tense headache and he had not even been awake for more than a few minutes.

'There really _is _no escaping these assholes is there?' he thought while truthfully examining the damage which had been done to his household items, and, in retrospect, his household. It was going to take a lot of sanitizing before he was happy with the place. Not that he minded much; his mother - just the thought of her made him shudder - would always make him clean their family's messes. It would make him feel useful at best, and that was something.

At least his feelings were _coming _back. It would take a while, but...it was a start.

After a bit of a free show for the inscrutable creatures which had so rudely invaded his home, the Once-ler was ready to sell his flawless product; the Thneed. With his first made wrapped carefully around his neck, which displayed one of its universal forms of a scarf, he yanked his guitar in to his grip and slammed the door shut, leaving that sea of faces inside.

The trip down to the village was just as his lengthy travels before; a pleasant day, the sun shining, the air clear and easy to breathe. He almost did not want the journey to stop, but he knew he had a mission; sell this thing and make a purpose for himself. And so, it was with optimism and grace(or at least as much grace as his insufferably long legs would allow him to contain) that he trolled to town square and set up his stand.

The streets were heavy with populous. It seemed to be such a small town from the outside, but there were so many residents and that intimidated him. A small voice inside his head told him to turn back and give up; to accept defeat; to realize his mistake and asses it properly. For a moment he almost considered listening to the cruel tone which he knew all too well, but by an inspirational glance at the beautifully crafted artifact around his neck, he knew he could not give in so easily. That was the simple way out, and he was tired of taking that route.

He was tired of being weak.

"Alright Melvin," he murmured to the young mule while stroking its muzzle, "I'm going to sell my Thneed today. It's time for me to change the world, single-handedly. Are you ready for this?"

The animal simply stared back at him, huffing in disapproval. He ignored it and whipped around on the balls of his feet, staring at the sign he had constructed and the space he cleared under the gazebo to host his demonstrations. With one hand on his breaking acoustic guitar, he sighed heavily and sucked in his composure.

"Let's do this, Oncie."

_He is coming._


	7. Chapter 7

He is somber. Day after day he would make the same trip to town. It was to a point where he had memorized the placement of those accursed trees on the way. In fact, he was growing quite discontent with the scenery. It was a constant reminder that he was a failure.

He always knew he was a failure. She would never allow him to think otherwise.

It was another day. Another day doing the same as the day before. A man could only repeat the same day over and over before he grew nauseated with it. And so, he decided to take a different route. Perhaps it would help to clear his head, he wagered. Maybe he could think of some better sales tactics. Or maybe something awful would happen to him.

Something in his stomach churned; he almost wished that was the outcome. Paradoxically the morbid thought had given him the motivation to try even harder than before on this day. Maybe, he thought, it would help to _watch _other salespeople beforehand. There was no time now, however. The sun was risen and he had to make his move before it was far too late.

"Melvin," the Once-ler addressed his waiting mule. The creature looked tired; even he was growing tired of the redundant events in town square. "We're taking a different route today. And if I don't sell this damn thing by the afternoon...well, I guess it's back home for me."

He winced, _for_ it shook him to admit this aloud. Those solemn words were just another reminder that if he accepted defeat, he would be tortured more than just by his own ruthless subconscious. She would punish _him _more than he would punish himself.

The animal grunted, obviously annoyed with its tall, lanky owner. The Once-ler's deep cobalt eyes found the grass immediately. Even his best friend was growing short with him. Could he not do anything right?

It was with a heavy heart that his long, slender body took its rightful place at the reigns of the wagon. He directed the cart - and, in essence, himself as well as the mule - in a new direction. It may have taken longer to reach their destination this way, but he was looking forward to the trip nonetheless.

A few minutes in, the Once-ler had already dug out his guitar and began to practice his sales pitch. Though beforehand he had been adherent to keep it all the same, this time he experimented with other methods. A new tempo, melody. Altered lyrics.

It seemed as though he were on a roll, and his negative attitude had melted off his body quickly enough. However, as they treaded closer to their goal, he noticed something was off about one of the Truffula trees in the distance; its trunk had either been discolored and misshapen, or...there was someone leaned against it. He grew quiet, as he found it quite peculiar to see any other human in the forest besides himself. Perhaps this enigmatic individual - if it even was an individual at all - was dangerous. Would he be prepared for any sort of attack? Queries like these ran through his head at a mile a minute. He was so overwhelmed with his own worries that when they had finally gotten close enough for him to distinguish reality from fiction, he had hardly noticed that the mar was in fact a man, and he was being waved to.

Initially the Once-ler had thought he went completely off the deep end. This enigmatic stranger was practically a mirror image of himself, save the eccentric clothing. His legs were impossibly long and skinny, the same with his arms. His hair had even been the same shade and fell onto his face exactly as his would. However, there was one distinctive difference; razor sharp teeth. The Once-ler winced at the sight of his grin, inverting himself and possibly scooting away from him even further. If it were not for those menacing teeth, his smile may have been charming. But no, this was deranged, aberrant and frightening. The nameless figure tipped his short top-hat at a thoroughly shaken Once-ler and, as he had a cigar in his grip, blew a puff of smoke in the shape of a heart in the salesman's general direction. Once-ler's dark brows laced together, and he snarled at the sight of it, omitting a posh, "tch". The interloper simply grinned wider - successfully sending a shudder through the entrepreneur's spine - and pulled down the frames of his large and flashy blue shades.

His eyes were a shocking, brilliant shade of green. The Once-ler was thankful for this other physical difference between them, and egged Melvin onward.

"Fucking freak..." he murmured, relieved that the mischievous individual was behind him then.

_Watch for him._


	8. Chapter 8

He was defeated. Howcould this happen? Not only was he rejected by every bystander he managed to stop and listen to his pitch, but he was also assaulted by the townspeople. In fact, they had formulated a line and were taking turns throwing things at him. It was absolutely humiliating.

With frustration and remorse in his heart, he finally decided it was time for him to call it quits.

A string of curses remained under his breath as he tossed aside that godforsaken invention. He felt as though a weight were lifted from his shoulders the moment its soft texture was completely out of his grasp. In fact, he was sure that if his hands were ever unfortunate enough to touch one ever again he would suffer from the most extreme of horrendously gruesome burns. And he knew horrendously gruesome burns.

"Come on Melvin," he growled to the mule, who cocked their head at him as if to say, 'I told you so'. He nearly spat at his friend's hooves, but settled with a scoff and climbed in to his seat. It only took a few minutes for them to reach the edge of town, and he was daring enough to peek over his shoulder with nostalgia in his eyes. It was a terrible place - a place of broken dreams. He felt forlorn there, but not nearly as forlorn as he would if he were back home.

Home. The word disgusted him; drew him to nearly retch.

He may not know _what _home was, but he knew that was no home.

"That place _will_ be the death of me," a grievous tone took over his vocal chords, practically making him choke on air.

_She _was there. As long as she remained there, he would never think of that quintessence of hell as a home.

Never once in his life was he looking so forward to a trip back to his hut than now. What lay ahead of him in his inevitable future was terrifying, yes, but for now he could breathe. He could be an adult, on his own. He could be independent. The thought of getting a job someplace else flew through his mind. Perhaps he never had to go back and face her again. Perhaps this was it; he could make a life for himself, and even if he was not doing what he wanted, at least he was free.

Free.

He drove himself to _say_ the word aloud. "Free."

It was optimistic and borderline far-fetched...but it was not impossible either.

He was surprised he still had the blessing of daylight. Usually it would be night by the time he headed back to the valley. With a content sigh, he leaned back and let his cobalt eyes fall on the breathtaking scenery. Midday. The atmosphere was pleasant. An air of opportunity lingered, and he liked to think it remained there for him to taste. Not wanting to pass up the once-in-a-lifetime chance, he inhaled the decadent aroma of a promising future.

That's when he saw something - or rather someone - dart behind a cluster of trees.

Right. He had nearly forgotten that creepy look-alike from earlier. Had the interloper really been...waiting there? For him? All day?

He shuddered at the thought, desperately trying to recall if he had stashed his axe in the wagon. It dawned on him that perhaps this enigmatic stranger knew of his temporary residence, and he made a detailed mental note to learn to sleep lighter, and definitely be more cautious during the day as well. he never dubbed such a pleasant valley as a dangerous place, but then again he always seemed to get the short end of the stick also. It was just his luck to move from one threatening area to another without even realizing it.

"Shit," his frustrated tone cut the once peaceful air like a blade. Melvin reeled his head over his shoulder for a moment, staring at the black-haired entrepreneur with narrowed eyes. Once-ler huffed, scattering a few tufts of unkempt ebony hair. "Good fight, huh buddy?" his chapped lips proclaimed. The mule turned its head around once more, focusing on the road ahead. "I figure that maybe I can find a job somewhere else, yea? It probably won't be much, but... I..." lithe fingers tightened around the reigns, "I don't want to go back there. You know?" he ground the inside of his cheek between his teeth and choked back the threat of desperate tears. His leg ached, and he absently rubbed the recently healed area, "I'm scared to. Fuck."

_What will she say?_


	9. Chapter 9

/-/ Okay guys. I know, it's been a LONG time. And I apologize, really! I have complete intention to finish this story, honest. I've just been very, very busy for a long time. Since I'm a junior in high school, I recently took my ACT test, so there was prepping for that, and a whole bunch of other crazy whatnot. I didn't forget about you guys though, I promise. I had actually written about half this chapter a while back and ended up losing it /sad face. Yea. That upset me. But, updates should be more frequent again now. \-\

They were many. How they found him he may never know, but then again his wish to was not exactly the highest either. They flooded in, blocking every angle of vision like being submersed in water. Smiling faces, appreciative twinkles to their eyes. Yes, this was an atmosphere of opportunity, and he breathed it in like a rarity. The treat of fine wine, even. As his body was lifted up and offered to the skies of success and- his breath nearly caught short at the idea- perhaps a lifetime of happiness, his ears listened to their enthusiastic singing. His grin spread on for miles, reaching even past their immense sea of population. A brightness entered his eyes: youth, contentment, joy and most of all the most satisfying sensation of relief he had never thought of experiencing.

What had changed their minds _he_ was entirely unsure of. It had crossed his mind that he may never know, but it did not strike him as a matter of importance either. His focus, mainly, was on the hands holding his weight above the ground as well as the excited way his fingers were twitching with adrenaline. Not to mention the way his jaw ached from smiling too wide for his face.

And then a thought crossed his mind.

How _is _he going to produce enough Thneeds to satisfy this wave of customers? It was a simple economic concept: the law of demand. If he could not supply, well, he might as well be a failure. There was only him, after all. He had no one. He knew no one.

No one except the last people on earth he wanted to see.

With a true lack of choice, he gripped the phone with trembling fingers and called.

Except his voice came out excited, not scared. The trembling in his digits was enthusiasm, not terror. Butterflies filled his stomach to the brim, but he was...okay.

They were _coming, _all of them. His worst nightmares. And he wanted to see them. Moreover, he anticipated their arrival so that he could show off his success. He did it. He was a businessman now. But what was most important was that they were wrong. They were all wrong, everyone. All along, he was right. He was not crazy. All that bitterness and hatred pent-up inside his body seemed to roll off like water.

They had returned him to the ground. He stood tall, over most of their heads even. They peered up at him with glistening, expecting eyes. He swallowed hard, his pallid lips cracking in to a nervous smile. A few people blinked. He tugged the collar of his shirt, tipped his hat and nodded.

"Well, I'm glad that you all have come to realize the greatness of the Thneed, really. But uh...if you all don't mind, I'll be a little busy for a while now. Er..." his blue eyes scanned the crowd, "a lot busy. So...run along," a hand movement gestured for them to shoo, "you'll all get yours soon. Just. Go home?"

They all seemed to nod, and the entirety of their mass shifted with it. As they dispersed, he was met with the glare of green eyes. "What? Aren't you happy? I did it! Nobody can say anything now! Not mom, not Bret or Chet. Not the townspeople. Not you, not anyone! I did it!"

The Lorax merely shook his head and turned to skulk away. He disappeared quickly, but Once-ler continued to stare in his direction. A feeling of emptiness took over. "You just...you don't understand. I did it. Didn't I? I got what I wanted."

Striking blue eyes lifted, a dark burning in their contrasting light color. They fell upon a figure. Dark, ominous. Distant, yet so close. Almost close enough to see him breathing. The valley was barren now except for this figure. A distinct smile ripped across his face. He tipped the rim of his hat and raised a gloved hand to wave.

Once-ler did not even bother to stick around for that part. He was already inside his cottage, back against the door, hatchet in his shaking vice grip, breath entering and leaving his lungs at a rapid pace.

Who was this guy exactly? What did he want? Why was here? Questions like these and a thousand more ran through Once-ler's mind at a speed quicker than his sporadic heart. His sporadic heart, which caught in his throat and nearly stopped when he heard a knock on the door behind him.

_He is coming._


	10. Chapter 10

/-/ Hey guys! Sorry again I totally suck wow but here's a thing I hope you don't hate me okay. Say hello to Greedy! I suggest looking up the origin of his last and middle names, Im pretty proud of my cleverness. Yes yes. I still love you guys I promise more things will be here in the future \-\

He was here. His lithe fingers were curled in to a tight knot which he used to pound down the walls of the Once-ler's blissful happiness. The fabric of his long green gloves contrasted against the wooden door indiscreetly and with cacophonous, incessant raps. Once-ler could hear the shifting of a long, lanky arm as it fell in patient waiting. His heart thundered against his ribs and he could almost smell the danger in the air, but he nevertheless found himself turning. His own fingers, trembling with reluctant determination, fell upon the cold metal of the familiar knob. He twisted the round mechanism in his grasp and the wood creaked, as if neglected. A singular blue eye peered through the minuscule crack between wall and door. He saw no weapons on the enigmatic stranger, but then again such an elaborate and well-tailored coat could be home to tons of hidden pockets.

"What do you want?" he growled bitterly, hoping he hadn't sounded as terrified as he had felt.

"To speak with you is all. I promise I have no plans of skinning you alive, or whatever else you may be thinking. I'm not here to hurt you. Unless you wish me to, then I would be more than happy to make an exception."

Once-ler's lip upturned stubbornly. He threw the door open the rest of the way and stood with a sense of dominance. Puffed chest, feet apart. A common display of superiority.

The stranger's stance mirrored his own, except it radiated a suave aura. He was a natural at this, probably born in to a rich and pompous family. What had made the Once-ler's knees buckle under him and force a stroke of fear in to his heart once again was that ravenous smile. Each tooth was a knife, falling in place like they had belonged to a shark.

"I _appreciate _that, doll," he crooned while taking a fleeting step inside, dismissively pushing past the frightened other. His clothed fingers reached in to a front pocket and withdrew a crisp business card, which he handed to his blue-eyed similar.

Once-ler's sky irises gazed on the card he absently clutched with curiosity. It read nothing but a name: Desir E. Plutus. An eccentric name, but he really had no room to speak. "What does the 'E' stand for?" he asked, his dark brows raising to address his near mirror-image.

"Are you going to drop _your _hatchet?" the iniquitous and eloquent doppelganger purred. Once-ler immediately allowed the alleged weapon to crash to the ground. Desir grinned widely at that, folding his hands behind his back, "it stands for Esuriens."

"Is that French or something?"

"It's Latin, and you're hopeless," he murmured with discontent, his shined shoes stepping toward the door in leaving.

Once-ler abruptly interrupted his uninvited guest with a discordant, "Wait a minute!", to which he received a questioning look. Not totally sure as to why he had stopped the other, he had eventually marked it down that he was intrigued by the stranger's undeniable charm. It was appealing to say the least, and he was slightly curious as to who exactly this enigmatic person may be. Besides, he hardly seemed dangerous if you could look past his menacing teeth. "You can't just show up here and give me a stupid business card with your weird name on it and expect me to just be fine with you turning around to leave. What the hell do you want, eh? Are you following me? Why do we look so much alike, are you like my long-lost brother or something?"

"Actually, I can," Desir's ebony brow lifted, and his piercing green eyes caught on to an expression of defeat. His smile upturned, but his mouth remained closed, "But since you were ever so polite, I'll answer your questions. Are you going to offer your guest a place to sit, or must I tire my feet with standing here?"

"Right. Uh. Sorry," the more uncoordinated of the two fumbled with his words and his feet as he uncovered a simple wooden chair, which he questioningly brushed off and pushed toward the intimidating stranger.

"Much better," a cordial tone soothingly muttered while its owner took a seat. Once-ler, with no other chair to sit upon, chose to rest himself on his bed, where his thin legs hung off the edge. "I'm not following you, I was simply observing an opportunity. The same as if such an opportunity were a commercial or an object. Casual research. You're an opportunity, understand? As to why we look alike, I can only tell you that we must have 'one of those faces'. No relation, I promise."

"So you're really...well, real?"

"You thought I wasn't?" Desir wondered aloud, a look of unsure hesitance in his eyes.

"I thought you might be some twisted version of a tulpa that had went terribly wrong and I was completely unaware of. Like you might have represented my moral downfall, or something," Once-ler admitted, a sense of laughter and embarrassment in his voice.

"That's absolutely ridiculous."

"Yea, I know."

"Now," green, gloved hands folded politely into Desir's lap, a triangle formed by his right leg, which crossed over the other and connected at ankle and knee, "as for what I want. I wish to work for you. Your business is aspiring and I'm interested in it. Not to mention you're a little in over your head. You need a helping hand."

"My family is coming, though."

"Hogwash! What are they, 4? 5?"

"Uh, there's 5 of them, if that's what you're asking."

"So you clearly need all the help you can get. I can offer you expertise in business matters, financial planning. Anything that concerns the productiveness of your business. You need another mind on the team, something more than a hopeless grunt to do manual labor."

"I guess so..."

"Marvelous!" Desir blurted, his infamous smile stretching across his lips, the sinister image of it forcing Once-ler's spine to shake. A hand was offered to him, and he shook it absently. Though he was _content _with the answers, he wasn't sure he wanted a stranger working for him. Then again, how bad could it be? Desir was underneath him. He was in charge. So what could go wrong? "I must be off then, doll. I'll come to call tomorrow morning, okay?"

"Uh, sure. I'll be here," Once-ler mumbled, to which he then stood and pulled the door open for his aberrant guest.

"'Till then," Desir waved nonchalantly until the door was shut in front of him. He could hear the slam of shoulders against wood from behind the threshold and smirked at the noise before turning to walk away.

_Appreciate your content. _


	11. Chapter 11

It was barely dawn. The sunlight peered over the edge of a far hill, spreading an orange glow over the misty darkness. The truffula forest lay in idle quiet, but Once-ler remained restless. He sat upright in bed, tired of tossing and turning. His eyes, now adjusted to the darkness, silently observed his room. Pale yellow glinted off of shiny surfaces and cast a coruscating shimmer on to the floor. He blinked absently at the ribbons of light, his bottom lip upturned in contemplation and discontent. Sleeplessness lays like rings underneath his eyes, a purple contrast to the blue irises above. Quiet lay still and undisturbed, save for wistful breathing.

Well, wistful breathing and the now thunderous groan bouncing off the walls. "Why is it so hard to sleep?" Once-ler whined, his lanky arms animating his words, only to fall limp upon his bedsheet, "this is ridiculous. It shouldn't even be legal."

As if sensing his distress, a group of fish began harmoniously singing from not too far away. He huffed, defeated, and listened with disinterest for a few moments. Despite the pleasing ring to their voices, their song failed to calm him. He pinched the bridge of his nose in impatience, remained still for a few heartbeats, then swung his legs over the edge of his bed and stood. "Right. Well, if I'm to have a productive day I should start no-"

A rapping came upon his front door. Startled, the sudden noise caused him to jump in place. His wide eyes tried peering holes through the wood to no prevail, and so he tiptoed quietly until he could reach the knob. He twisted the metal slowly, until it could turn no longer, and with a sharp inhale he threw the door open widely, poised for attack.

"...Do you greet all your guests like that?" Desir questioned, his brow lifted in inert curiosity. He wore a 3-piece suit, the crisp ironed fabric gently hugging his limbs and torso. His suit jacket was of a deep navy blue, the cuffs a refined ebony as well as his vest. The black pointed shoes on his feet shone bright and threatened to blind, and he wore a low black top hat with a blue band around the base. Once-ler glanced down at his own appearance: simple flannel pajamas, bare feet. He felt his cheeks warm with embarrassment and returned to a normal standing position. "When they come knocking at my door at the break of dawn, yeah. I do. What's with you, huh? It's barely morning. People are trying to sleep."

"You weren't."

"Where's your proof?"

"Are you going to just stand there, or will you let me in, doll?"

Once-ler stepped aside, but his ice blue eyes burned hot, glaring in to bright green orbs. "Why do you keep calling me doll?"

"Do you not like it?"

"Wow, congratulations. What a fast learner you are. No, genius, I don't."

"I heard you."

"Excuse me?"

"I heard you talking to yourself, that's how I knew you were awake."

Once-ler nodded drowsily, sinking in to a sitting position atop his mattress. "Wait a minute. You were listening to me?"

"I-"

"That's beyond creepy. You have some major problems," he remarked with malice. It had taken a few moments and some rapid blinking to push back the blinding light, but he had finally noticed that Desir carried a large roll of paper underneath his arm and a few white pencils, "what's that stuff for?"

"I figured we should start blueprinting a factory design. You're going to need to expand, after all. You can't do all of this out of your bedroom."

"Who says?"

"Efficiency, that's who. You'll need technology. Machines. You'll work your hands off without them."

Once-ler mulled over the idea in quiet contemplation. He could hardly comprehend his own success, let alone building an entire factory to show for it. The idea was preposterous, but he figured it must be necessary. However, making any huge business decisions without the consent of his family, especially his mother, felt wrong. Regardless of their cruelty, they had agreed to help him now that he had found success, it was only fair to include them in major decisions. "I...I'm not sure I want to design anything yet. Not until my family gets here."

"Pish posh! You might as well get started, you can always tweak things later," Desir crooned, a persuasive curl on his lips.

"...Did you have any ideas?"

Desir's razor sharp teeth glinted in the light of the room, a triumphant grin reaching from ear to ear at the sound of Once-ler's defeat. "Oh, plenty."

* * *

"How about a transportation system from outdoors to the heart of the factory," Once-ler suggested, pointing the tip of his pencil to the west end of the elaborate building they had pieced together through imagination and compromise. He sketched a thin line leading outward from the spot and off the edge of the page, "that way the tufts can be carted easily."

"Now you're getting the hang of it doll."

"Stop calling me that," he warned, a growl in his voice. Desir scrawled two other similar lines coming from the front and opposite side of the building, indicating that there should be more than one carting system.

"My apologies, Once-ler."

In the matter of a few hours the two of them had designed a monumental factory. The architecture of its design appeared to be nearly impossible, but Desir had assured a worried Once-ler that it would stand for years to come. Its tall structure was looming, but it had a large collection of inviting windows on the top floors, which would serve as an office area as well as a living space. Exhaust pipes protruded from the roof and lead down to the bottom floors of the factory area, where the smoke would travel up and out. A balcony highlighted the large managerial office reserved for the Once-ler, and a staircase lead down from such until reaching the ground, in case of a fire emergency. Of course, Once-ler understood that he hadn't the funds to afford a building project just yet, but he was content on his current situation until the popularity of the Thneed grew.

"Well, do you have anything else to add?" the blue-eyed entrepreneur inquired with curiosity.

"Afraid not," replied Desir, who set down his pencil in conclusion.

Icy irises moved over the blue canvas, a content smile on his weary face. "Well, I hope my mother likes it."

"Once-ler," an oddly gruff voice had replaced the usual lilting playfulness which escaped Desir's mouth.

"Hm?" Once-ler grunted, only half paying attention, his pride swelling at the sight of his future splayed out before him.

He nearly leaped out of his skin. The feel of smooth lips against the lobe of his ear, just barely touching, startled him ineffably. A shudder rippled throughout his body, and he had barely noticed that the only reason why this enigmatic individual who was still nearly a stranger to him had gotten so close was because he had to gather up the ends of the paper in order to roll it up. Nevertheless, those whispered words stunned him into a statue-like state.

_"She'll break you."_


End file.
